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Ellie is a bright and bubbly, yet dedicated new nurse in the Emergency Department at Chicago Medical Institute. Dr. Harry Styles, meticulous, hardworking, and driven, is the head of the department. Ellie's little q...
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Harry's schedule became maniacal with the demands of the burgeoning workload for the new ER. Construction was scheduled to start in six months' time, and there seemed to be at least ten years' worth of work to be done between now and then. It was challenging, to say the least, but we made every effort to spend time together, even if we were involved in our own endeavors.
Late one evening, I was sprawled out on his couch, reading a medical journal. I could hear him nearby, tapping away on his computer as he worked on an add-on proposal for a small playroom in the waiting area. My idea.
Reading about a potential ebola vaccine was interesting enough, but I'd been reading far too long and my eyelids eventually collapsed, allowing sleep to take over. Having no clue how much time had passed, I was awakened by Harry's breath near my face, saying, "Wake up, Sleepyhead." I opened one eye and then both. Upon seeing a ludicrous grin sprawled across his face, I briefly questioned whether I was dreaming.
"What time is it?" I mumbled.
"Three in the morning," he replied, his voice oddly giddy. Then I smelled it, the tang of alcohol meandering towards my nose.
"Have you been drinking?" I asked, a lethargic grin managing to overtake at least half of my face. The grin turned into a giggle when he showed me with his fingers that he'd been drinking "just a little," the same as he'd done when he and my friends surprised me at the hospital.
"How much is a little?" I questioned, giving him the sideways glance that meant he was about to be interrogated. I sat up and looked around for the evidence. I noticed a bottle of gin on his desk next to his computer, accompanied by a glass with a soggy lime at the bottom. There was barely a shot left in the bottom of the glass decanter. I looked at him suspiciously. "Please tell me that this wasn't full when you started."
"Oh, Ellie," he said, flopping his arm over my shoulders. "It's a small bottle. And I opened it yesterday," he answered, and I couldn't miss the self-righteous tone to his voice.
"Harry," I spoke, trying not to let my alarm seep into my words. "That's a lot to drink in two days."
"Pshh," he laughed, pushing my shoulder back a little. He was really wasted.
"Well, for now, I think you need a lot of water and your bed."
"Mmm, bed," he smirked. "Will you come to bed with me?"
I was leery about his intentions while alcohol ruled his mind, but at the same time, I knew I could wrestle him off if he got a little too carried away. It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex with him, but we hadn't quite reached that point yet, and I certainly didn't want our first time together to be when he was stinking drunk.
"Come on," I said, tugging his arm. He stood up clumsily and put his arm back around my shoulder while I led him to his room. "I'll get you some water," I stated after I'd managed to assure that he was adequately seated on the bed. I found a large tumbler and filled it to the brim with water. I also grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from the ledge by his sink. When I returned, Harry was standing by his bed, fumbling with his belt. His inked torso was already gloriously on display, having already removed his layers from his upper half.
